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When I Was 18

By Claire Louise Stafford



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It was when I was eighteen years of age, I had spent the day wandering round the grand old city of Belfast, Northern Ireland, just doing some shopping and had a surprise meeting with my girl friend and bumping into a stranger who invited me for a drink.

I leaned back in my seat and felt the swaying and rocking of the railway carriage swaying me gently. I glanced down at the magazine I had purchased. But my eyes kept straying out the carriage window at the sunny, spring afternoon. I should have been relaxed but the thrill and excitement of what I had done repressed all other thoughts. As I looked down at my stockinged legs peeking out from below the hem of the lime green, paisley patterned dress I was wearing I again thought over this almost impossibly perfect day.

My parents were away, spending a week at a seaside resort on the coast, called Millisle, in County Down, on the east coast of Northern Ireland. I was staying with my sister. (No, it’s not one of those stories!) I rose as usual and slipped out the front door as if I was heading off to work then hid round the corner and, after she had left for the day, I slipped back into the house, raced to my room and changed.

I prepared myself. The underwear was nothing really special, an ordinary bra with matching pants and after donning a pair of tan tights I slipped the panty-girdle up my legs until I felt secure.

After a careful application of make-up, heavy on the eyeliner, (well this was the late sixties) I donned my shoulder length blonde wig, its fringe coming to just above my eyes. My dress was an ‘A’ line with ¾ length sleeves, the hem well above my knees. I put on my sister’s leather overcoat, grabbed my shoulder bag, which matched the strapped sling back shoes with their medium heels and prepared to make my exit.

It’s always the first step out the door, which makes my heart climb into my throat. The thrill of the breeze round my exposed legs, the sound of my heels striking the step at the front of the house always seems to echo round the street, indicating to everyone to come to their doors and look at me. Of course no one is really interested. I had checked for the fiftieth time if I had my house keys in the pocket of my sister’s three-quarter length leather coat before closing the door. Then I strode quickly away from my refuge, along the streets of semi detached houses, head lowered hoping the fringe would shade my face from prying eyes.

I forced my legs to keep moving, waiting to bump into someone who knew me, or worse, my sister coming home because she had forgotten something and, recognizing the coat, accosting me.

But I made it my local station safely and soon I was on my way into the city. I spent most of the journey glued to the window, not daring to look at the other passengers. The trained arrived at the station and I waited until everyone alighted before moving quickly to the doorway, within minutes I’m walking thought the ‘Great Victoria Street Station’, crossing the main street and into the main shopping district.

I soon found myself wandering round the labyrinth of old streets and shops being able to experience the alien feeling of actually being able to stop and examine lingerie, feminine clothing, even trying on some things. Normally all I could do was, en drab, walk casually through these same aisles trying to look as though I had wandered into the wrong area, hopefully avoiding the furtive glances that might attract the attention of the store security people.

But I had an errand. My girlfriend, Marie, worked at a factory, just off Great Victoria Street so I trotted round to the gate where I could see the entrance, it was an old building and, as it was warm and sunny, I knew they would come outside for a mid morning break.

I was looking for Marie so intently among the crowd of people milling round that I didn’t notice the figure walking towards me, he wasn’t paying attention either because we almost collided. He apologized and made to walk on but he stopped, turned and asked if I was waiting for someone. I nearly had kittens on the spot! I looked up at him and sidled away, acting nonchalant, (if pigs could fly) mumbling "Yes!"

At that moment Marie appeared. The surprised look on her face must have matched the scared look that was probably on mine. I waved to her and she came over, gave the man one of ‘those’ looks, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away.

She fired questions at me, "What was I doing here? Who was that man? Didn’t I know better?"

All the things guaranteed to make me feel squirm, like the child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. After she had settled me down she glanced at her watch, she had to get back to work. She left me with a promise to meet for lunch. I waited for a moment before heading off.

But lunchtime was two hours away, what was I going to do in the meantime? I was able to settle my nerves. In a furniture shop window I saw a mirror, giving myself the once over I felt that I looked reasonably presentable, after all, I had just had a man try to pick me up, or so I thought. I left and went round to find some more shops, after all what’s a girl to with time on her hands but go shopping?

Wandering round the aisles and doing a heap of window shopping is just the thing to help settle a girl and after a while I felt myself unwinding enough to enjoy myself. I even managed to buy a blouse and some earrings.

It was close to lunchtime, my stomach is a great clock! I made my way back to meet Marie. I’d be glad to get off my feet, I wasn’t used to heels then. My feet, as well as my stomach, were complaining.

Marie met me and we went to a small sandwich bar. Again she asked all those questions but not as frantic this time. I, in turn, asked all the usual questions at her. Did I look all right? Pretty enough? As usual she was non-committal. "I’ve seen worse".

Great! Thanks for the confidence booster. After we had eaten we left with an arrangement for a ‘date’ later that evening. I then went for a last walk round before heading back to the station. I had to walk past a bar on the way and guess who was standing outside. Yes he had turned up again, like the proverbial bad penny. The man I had almost bumped into before.

He grinned at me and greeted me with a cheery, "Hello darlin’".

He made a motion towards me and invited me inside for a drink. I attempted one of ‘those’ looks and managed to side step round him and make for the station.

I remember how strange it felt, being looked up and down like that. I guessed girls must get used to it. Mind you, from the smell of alcohol on his breath I imagined he would have tried to chat up anything in a skirt, look out all Scots men in kilts! Still I’m vain enough or hopeful enough to think, maybe, I was attractive to him.

Now, one thing may have crossed the reader’s mind. If you consider my schedule, up early in the a.m. after a breakfast, two cups of tea, some frights etc.

Question: What was my next urgent quest?

Answer: A toilet.

So here, dear reader, was my first introduction into the mysteries of a ladies' toilet. The old Victoria Street Station loo was huge. The tiles on the floor seemed to make my heels click very loudly in the great expanse. I closed the door of a stall and sat.

When I left I strode to a magazine stand, purchased a magazine to read and with a sigh of relief I walked through the barrier, boarded the train and sank with relief into my seat. Bliss!

I observed the other passengers, to see if anyone was paying any attention to me. Of course there was! I had sat in my seat, opened my coat, spread the skirt of my dress and was even about to slip my feet out of my shoes when I saw them. Three men, standing at the doorway at the other end of the carriage were looking for a seat. They spied me and moved towards the seat opposite mine. I buried my face in my magazine.

I could observe them out of the corner of my eye. They nudged each other and were whispering, some ribald comments I guess. Oddly enough I didn’t feel threatened, in fact when they got up to leave I braved a glance and of them had the cheek to wink at me.

Anyway, my stop came up and I alighted, at Derriaghy, - lovely place names in Ireland- and made my way back home.

I had made it! The relief surged through me as I lay on my bed. Feeling absolutely drained – not wanting to undress, wanting the experience to go on for longer much longer – but of course I had to undress and put the things away. But, I knew I was going to repeat that experience again, I had to.

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